


War Stories

by destronomics



Category: Iron Man (2008)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-25
Updated: 2009-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 17:12:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destronomics/pseuds/destronomics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhodes shows up at her apartment at two in the morning, a twelve-pack in one hand, a pint of ice cream in the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	War Stories

Jim Rhodes shows up at her apartment at two in the morning, a twelve-pack in one hand, a pint of ice cream in the other.

Pepper, trying to hold her robe closed, gives him a bleary look. "What sort of cliche do you think I am?"

"He's disappeared off the grid again. And _this_ is for me."

And despite how cold Pepper suddenly feels, the beer begins to look like a pretty good idea.

"I'm serious, you can't have any, because you were very rude just then."

She lets him in with tired smile, and the door shuts behind them harder than she had anticipated. The finality of the sound makes her shiver.

**

They drink. A lot. The ice cream melts uneaten next to Pepper's TV remote, but she can't bring herself to toss it out. Butter pecan was (_is_. is. The beacon in the suit is still working, so for now it's _is_) Tony's favorite and she remembers again that Jim and Tony have been friends for over a decade now. Maybe it's a little sad that she's comforted by that, but the idea that someone else may care just as much about Tony makes her feel less pathetic. Less alone.

She clinks her third beer against what probably is Jim's fourth. Or fifth. She's lost count.

She realizes she's calling him Jim in her head now, and chalks it up to the beer and not to his hand on her leg.

He had been making a meager attempt to comfort her after sharing the news about Tony's latest disappearance. Something about Japan, a dragon with purple pants, and the soluble properties of that damned suit. Maybe she had been shaking, or crying, but he had patted her leg and kept repeating "purple pants" and "maybe he'll just pass through like a penny" until the dry heaves turned into giggles and the giggles turned into honest-to-god-laughter and the hand on her leg no longer made her jittery, but just a touch warm.

She doesn't mind.

"Oh, you have no idea, Jim. No idea what I had to go through hiring those, those--"

"Very _capable_ waitstaff?"

Pepper hiccups and puts a hand to her mouth in the hope of catching the sound before Jim notices. The grin on his face just becomes wider. She scowls, but the effect is marred by an encore. His grin dissolves into a guffaw, and Pepper decides not to fight it because it feels nice to hear him like that.

His hand begins to trace patterns on her knee, and she can't find a reason to fight that either.

"I remember when he asked me to book interviews. I wasn't even paying attention at the time--"

"Oh god, I'm glad I'm not the only one. Sometimes he just talks, you know?"

"You only have to see him when he's sober enough to drive. Imagine how he is in the morning--"

"I can't even _begin_," Jim shakes his head in amusement at the familiar long-suffering look that overtakes Pepper's face, "Okay, sorry for interrupting, continue."

"Anyway, he's all, 'Make sure they have a, uh, dance background,' and it's my first day, Jim, my _first day_ and I have to find strippers who can carry a tray full of drinks during turbulence."

"You did a very good job with that, by the way."

"Oh, don't tell me you--"

Jim can't meet her eyes, and she takes that as tacit permission to hit him. She does, with enthusiasm.

"Hey!"

"You owe me, pal. You owe me two weeks of my life back, and whatever youthful naivete I had before taking this damn job. I worked for presidents, Jim. The kind that can get impeached for half the crap Tony pulls on me in a single week."

"Tony always was an overachiever."

"Is," Pepper says, almost to herself.

Jim tips his bottle towards her. "Is. Point to Miss Potts."

She nods, as sagely as she can manage with three beers in her, and she almost tips forward into Jim's lap.

He catches her, sure, but he's also laughing hard enough to spill the beer in his hand onto her very expensive couch. She tells him as such, but doesn't move from her place in his arms. He's just laughing harder.

"Tony has boxers more expensive than this thing."

She tries hitting him again, but his hand catches hers and for the first time in a long time she doesn't try to think twice. She leans in, and this time she doesn't stop.

It's as natural as anything done under the influence usually is: lips miss and elbows elbow and they still fit, strangely.

His hand tightens around hers, and she presses her lips against his even harder. She lets his other arm draw her into his lap, lets it clench against her robe as she shifts her knee just so. He whispers something into her mouth, but if it's a protest, she doesn't hear it and he doesn't say it again.

She pulls her hand from his and brings it against the side of his face, and then his neck, following the line of muscle that works alongside his jaw. She likes the feel of it, the minute dip of the pores in his skin, the tendon working beneath. It feels warm.

His arms tighten around her waist as her tongue brushes against his lips; release as he lets her in.

Maybe it's the worry easing them through rough spots, a mutual distraction named Anthony Edward Stark. But Pepper is tired, and so is Jim, and they both don't have the energy to navigate the emotional wasteland that will be the result of whatever this might turn out to be.

Pepper extricates herself from the tangle they had become and stumbles into the hall to find him a blanket. He's still in the same position she left him, the leg that had been on her lap stretched out over the now-empty space. She makes a half-serious effort to tuck him in. Before she can pull away to her own room, his hand comes out from underneath the blanket to catch her arm.

He presses his lips against hers once more, and while it doesn't feel like an invitation, it's not goodnight either. His hand tightens so she settles beside him and he draws her close as he arranges the blanket around them both. Maybe she's doing this for him, maybe a little for herself, but until they hear anything new, she might as well enjoy the benefits of their mutual purgatory.

It's nice, she thinks again before drifting off to sleep, knowing someone else cares.


End file.
